One-Shot Series: A Newthia FanFiction
by NewthiaAHomestuckAU
Summary: (Part of my Newthia AU.) One shots between the trolls on Newthia. Drabbles, Poems, verse, song fics, and more. Set before main story. (Requests open!)
1. Chapter 1

Just a series of one shots about the trolls in my AU. Set in my Newthia AU, go read the profile thingy if you want this to make sense.  
I guess this is mainly to mess around with characters and stuff. I'm not sure if the characters will remain like this, but I need to get some stuff up, because that will guilt me into putting more stuff up. So, this isn't very good.

All right, so you probably didn't read my profile. So, long story short, in a splinter timeline, or maybe an alternate universe, the trolls successfully defeated/won their game, as did the humans. Blah, blah, blah, in the future, their descendants and kids are on this planet waiting until they're old enough to play a version of the game and meet their ancestors/parents but things go wrong blah, blah, blah. This is BEFORE that happened. Just trolls goofing off, and me building relationships and character development, blah, blah, blah. All characters in this are of my own invention, Hussie, owns your soul and Homestuck so don't sue, blah, blah, blah. I think that's it!

For those of you wondering about the characters, they will be sort of a mix between the Beta and Alpha trolls, but with their own spin and stuff. They go by the last name of their family tree, so Vantas and Peixes and stuff. There's 12 trolls on planet. (Wow, huge surprise.) Does this make sense?

And, I reserve the right to make drastic character changes until I start publishing the main story part.

* * *

Chapter one: The Messenger  
Starring: Serket and Ampora

Serket threw open the door. There was a thud, and a yelp. She forged forward, into a huge hive, and dropped a box of some of the most boring books she had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on. But Megido had requested they be delivered to Ampora, and so they would be.  
The door swung shut, and she glanced behind her. Ampora was glaring at her and rubbing his nose a little.  
"Oops." She said nonchalantly. "Hey, I got your boring series. Is this one about magic?" She tried to keep the sneer out of her voice, she really tried.  
"No, military exercises." He walked over and bent over the box. Ampora flipped it open and examined the contents. "My dreamcestor told me I should look into it."  
"Oh, cool." Serket said. There was a silence as Ampora pulled the books out of the box. There usually was some sort of awkward moment when people checked their deliveries. It wasn't about not trusting her; if she left the island with some of their stuff still stowed away or if something needed to be brought back to someone or if something simply wasn't there, they might have to wait weeks before even being visited by her again. Everything appeared to be in order.  
"Thank you, Serket. Would you like something to eat or are you busy?" Ampora asked, dropping a few books back into the box and standing back up. Serket knew she should get back, but Ampora had some really great food sometimes, and she was starving. It only took a moment to decide.  
"I'd love something hot and fishy." She commanded. He nodded and led the way to the kitchen. He pulled out some stuff and started prepping something.  
"So, Ser, I was thinking." He began. _Oh, Sufferer, here it comes. _She thought. "If you still don't have anyone as your Kissmiss, I thought maybe you'd like somebody to fill that quadrant?"  
"Am, I don't want you in that quadrant right now. One, I'm feeling pretty platonic about you lately, and two, I'm not sure I want you in a dark quadrant. I'm mean, Moirails is out of the question for us right now, and so is a Matespritship. Someday in the future, maybe, but right now, I don't want you in any of my quadrants." She said.  
Ampora took a breath, and she repressed a sigh. He could be so long winded, and she wasn't wasn't to listen to one of his "let's save the species" talks. But Ampora had listened through her spiel, and she promised herself that she would listen to whatever he was about to say. She reached over and grabbed a piece of fried something out of the pan, and popped in in her mouth.  
"But Ser, what the next generation?! We are the last trolls in existence, and we alone are responsible for recreating our entire race! We need as many couples as possible, as soon as possible!" He said, picking up a plate. He dumped the food on the plate and set it on the table. He pulled Serket over and sat her down, taking a seat on the other side.  
_Okay, never mind._ She thought as he took another breath.  
"Aren't you forgetting our ancestors?" She said before he could continue. She took a bite of the food. "Wow, this is really good."  
"Thank you. And they don't count. They're off flying around in space, so they can't procreate. Our feelings don't matter, only the future!" Ampora said, ending his sentence by banging a hand on the table.  
"If our feelings don't matter why don't you ask Maryam? I'm sure she'd agree with you." Serket said. She was cramming the food as quickly into her mouth as she food without being rude. She wanted to get out of here, but high bloods did love their manners. Ampora let his head fall onto the table.  
"I did." He said, his response muffled by the table. Serket nearly choked on her last bite.  
"You did not." She said. There was a moan. Serket got up and made sure she had everything.  
"She turned me down flat. One of my most humiliating rejections yet." Ampora said.  
Serket looked down at the sea-dweller. She sighed and fished a small box out of her pocket. She opened it a little and set it next to his head.  
"Look up in thirty seconds." She said. "I have a delivery here for you."

Serket left the building quickly. As she was getting on her boat, she stopped.  
"AAAARGHHHHHHHHHH!" She laughed at the scream that erupted from the hive and swung herself on her boat.  
She would miss the spider, but it was worth it for that yell. Ah, the joys of being the messenger.

* * *

There we go. The first post of my Newthia AU. Like? Hate? Don't care? Leave a comment! Confused? Leave a comment or message me! I'm open to questions and suggestions. I'll try and help anyway I can.

Also, if there's characters you want to see interact, feel free to comment requesting it.


	2. Makara and Pyrope

So here's the second one-shot. I really have to get these up faster, but I've got other stuff going on.

I wasn't really sure how to portray either of these guys. Makara is dangerous in that instead of flipping out like Gamzee, he stews and plans and gets you back a thousand times worse. Pyrope is cold and all business. Probably the two hardest characters to write.

* * *

Chapter two: Tents and Books  
Starring: Makara and Pyrope

Makara sat on his knees on the floor. There wasn't a carpet or anything. He'd never been big on decorations. He dipped his fingers in a jar with teal "paint" in it, and spread it across the tent in front of him. A big sweeping arc, in teal, against the purple cloth. He looked at his work, judging it silently. He deemed it good, and dipped his fingers into the jar again. This tent was nearly finished.

Later, when he ducked out of the tent, Makara grimaced as the light hit his face. He had been expecting it. But that didn't make it any less pleasant. A stupider troll would've lost track of the time in the darkened tent. The tents didn't let any light in, and it could get confusing. For a stupider troll. Makara wasn't a stupider troll.  
Makara was silent as he walked through the tents, weaving his way through the ghost carnival. Of course, he was thinking. Something he often did to pass the time.  
He came to his own tent, and ducked in. Inside, bottles of untouched faygo lined the walls, and horns that honked when you stepped on them sat in a pile. He walked past the subjuggalator garbage and into his own respite block.  
Inside that room, bottles of painting substance sat lined up, along with paint brushes and towels. A desk had been placed there as well, along with a husktop. A recupracoon sat in the corner, and a door to his bathroom sat in the other. Well, not a door, more like a doorway made out of the tent fabric, covered by more fabric to cover the entrance. That was how the entire carnival was. Just tent fabric and more tent fabric and more tent fabric. And more tent fabric. I bothered him, and had Makara been a stupider troll, he might've freaked out about it. But he wasn't.

Makara was relaxing in a pile of tent fabric when his husktop dinged. He would've been resting somewhere else, but the fabric was really the most comfortable thing he had. As much as he hated the fabric it had its purposes. He wasn't stupid enough to pretend it didn't just because he hated it. It was his experience that everything had its purpose and that extended to things he hated.  
Makara pulled himself up and sat down at his desk. He had left his trollian account on. He usually did. That way, when he chose to ignore people, it was entirely possible that he was away and had simply left his account on again.

mechanicalArcher started trolling clownsHate

MA: D: HighDlooD  
MA: D: While I finD it unlikely that you will responD  
MA: D: I have a request.  
MA: D: I have Deen unaDle to find paint, and require some so that I may carry out my Dreamcestor's request that I learn the finer arts of troll etiquette.  
MA: D: Will you lenD me some?

Makara crossed his arms as he watched the words pop up on the screen. No doubt the blue blood would find it easy to achieve everything his dreamcestor required of him. Like most of the trolls, he found his dreamcestor easy to get along with and quiet amazing, and they had endless things in common. When he had been younger, Makara had believed that they had all been lying to him, and that they had many secret conversations where they made sure that all of their information correlated perfectly with each other's before talking to him. As he aged, Makara had come to the conclusion, that while that was preferable to the reality, it simply couldn't be true. They were just too stupid.

CH: Of course, I would be more than happy to.  
CH: I will send the paint over the next time something is delivered to me.  
MA: D: Thank you, highDlooD.  
MA: D: This will not De forgotten.  
CH: Oh, I have no doubt.

clownsHate logged off

MA: D: What?

Makara got up and walked over to the jars. He chose one of each color, and carried them outside. He ignored the sun and found a box to put them in. He tore some tent fabric off a nearby tent, and stuffed in between the jars, insuring their safety.  
He carried the box back inside and set it down, before deciding to call it a night, and getting in his recupracoon. Everything else could be taken care of tomorrow.

"You'll get sun burn if you stay up like this." Makara didn't bother opening his eyes. "I'm back."  
"I see that." He responded, slow and mellow, careful not to disrupt his chill.  
"With your eyes closed?" He sat up and looked over. A young female troll was sitting in front of his husktop, her legs crossed as she leaned back. Her lips were drawn in a thin line, and her eyebrows drawn together, just a touch. A normal expression for her. She continued. "An amazing feat."  
He calmly pulled himself out of his recupracoon, and walked over to the bathroom. He rinsed off, and got himself some new clothing. A black shirt with black pants, his symbol painted on both, and bare feet.  
He walked back in the room and sat down in his pile of tent fabric. She stared at him, and he stared back.  
"How was your trip?" He asked.  
"Fine." She responded. All business, strict and harsh. Perfect.  
"And Megido?" The boredom in his voice wasn't faked. The question itself was faked, he didn't care about her. The only way the rust blood affected him was when she "borrowed" his mateprit. And that just affected him by affecting those around him.  
"She's fine."  
"Oh?"  
He could see there was something she wasn't telling him. Not that he cared. If she had something she wanted to tell him, she would tell him. And if she didn't, she wouldn't. Really, perfect.  
"I need some more paint." He said.  
"What color?" She asked. She was already standing up. Makara frowned.  
"Not now." He said. She looked down, and her customary frown deepened. "You just got back. I was hoping we could spend some time together before you went back to the library."  
"Time together? Doing what?" She asked. He smiled and stood up. Her surprise wasn't very, well, surprising. They'd never been into doing special things together just because they were Matesprits.  
"Painting, of course. I need more teal and purple, and it seems like this is the perfect time for it. Don't you think, Pyrope?" He said. By the time he got her name out, he was already out of his respite block, and well on his way out of the tent as well.  
She followed obediently, and he could feel her cold curiosity. Everything about her was cold. Only her skin was warm, and that was due to her lower blood color. She would make a perfect legislator.

Later, as Makara and Pyrope painted the new tent Makara had pitched, he could feel a question bubbling up. They worked in silence, like they did everything else. They were sitting on their knees, side-by-side,  
"Yes?" He asked. She looked up at him, twisting her head so she could meet his eyes. He twisted to meet her gaze.  
"Why do you keep putting up more tents and painting them?" She asked. Makara nodded slowly. He could see where her confusion was coming from.  
"Well, it's certainly not my fault that both my ancestor and my dreamcestor were into the same strange beliefs. And it's not my fault that my ancestor left me all this tent material and faygo and horns and everything else a subjuggalator needs. I am merely…" He looked back at his painting. "I am simply…fulfilling my duties and expectations. I have nothing else to do, because they left me nothing else to do. It's…"  
"Simple." She finished for him. Makara nodded.  
She was still staring at him. He could feel her eyes on him. He coolly worked on his painting, ignoring her.  
"Makara." He looked down at her. She slid off her glasses. They were red, and shaped funny. Not like normal glasses, but almost tear shaped. His mind latched onto that thought, and he almost missed her sigh. "We need to talk about Vantas."  
Makara looked back at the tent cloth. He dipped his fingers into a purple jar, and carefully brushed the substance across the fabric.  
"Are you flushed for him?" He asked, coolly. Pyrope laughed. It was rare, and sent a shiver up his spine. He looked at her. In place of her normal scowl, her lips had twisted into some mimic of a smile. The hair on the back of his neck stiffened, and he felt the urge to kiss her forehead. He resisted.  
"No." She said. "I am not."  
Makara returned to his painting once more. She did the same. They worked in their normal silence until she touched his arm. He turned to her, again. She lifted herself up, and gently kissed his cheek. He didn't return her sentiment, and she pulled away.  
"I'm flushed for you." She stared blankly.  
"I'm flushed for you." He repeated.  
They returned to their painting. Nothing had changed, and nothing ever would. Of that, Makara was certain.


End file.
